
PS 3503 
.13 U5 
1916 
Copy 1 



%^^i^ 






THE ^ 

MNDIRSTANDING 
HILLS 

LIVINGSTON L,BIDDLE 





Class _ 
Book_.r__ 



JJ 



CfOPXRiGirr DEPosni 



211;^ Hlttb^ratanJutng Sftlla 



And Other Poems 



BY 
LIVINGSTON LUDLOW BIDDLE 



NEW YORK 
1916 






\ 



\} 



Copyright, 1916 
By DODD, mead AND COMPANY, INC. 




ocrsi I9IS 



©a.A445400 



Certain poems herein are, with the permis- 
sion of the editors, reprinted from Ainslee^s, 
Munsey's Magazine, The Bookman^ Scribner's 
Magazine and Lippincott^ s Magazine, to whom 
the author desires to express his acknowledg- 
ments. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Understanding Hills i 

A Spring Idyll 4 

In a Pine Forest 6 

The Taj Mahal 7 

The Birth of Love 14 

To One Who Sailed Away 16 

The Witches' Revenge 18 

To One Beloved 19 

Lines and What Lies Between .... 20 
To the North Wind in Winter . . . .21 

To THE South Wind as Winter Ends . . 25 

Because of Thee .... .... 28 

Memories 30 

To A Loved One 31 

Nature's Secret 32 

* Letters and Art 33 

The Difference 41 

Belief 43 

To A Wild Rose 44 

In a Mirror 45 

Three Questions 46 

*This poem was written to be read before the ^ B K 
society at the annual meeting held in Philadelphia, December, 
1915. 

[vii] 



To Those Who Vigil Keep 48 

In a Garden 49 

Sunset and Thunder Clouds 50 

Beneath a Window 51 

The Scent of Roses 52 

The Island of Forgetfulness 53 

The Sea 56 

As a Mirror — so My Heart 61 

To A Violet 62 

How Different 63 

Autumn (After the First Frost) ... 65 

The Witching Hour 69 

The Sea Wolves 71 

The Tennis Match 74 

At Parting 76 

Dawn in June 78 

When a Loved One Is Near 81 

To A Star 83 

Youth and Old Age 84 

In June 86 

To Mount Ararat 87 

The White Rose's Mission 89 

To THE Four Winds 90 

To One Away 93 

To One Departed 94 

Comparison 97 

The Story of a Rose 98 

To One Absent 100 

How Strange It Seems loi 

The Abandoned Home 102 

Yesterday and To-day no 

[ viii ] 



The Mysterious Woman iii 

Then and Now 113 

Why? 115 

Impossibilities 117 

The Submarine 118 

Association 120 

The Wedding March from Lohengrin . .122 

The Greek Islands 124 

Snow-Flakes 127 

The River 128 

Do Dreams Come True ? 132 

At Sunset I33 

At Dusk 134 

Always i37 

Early November 138 

The Valley of Departed Days . . . .140 



[ix] 



SIIfF 3lttJi?r0taniiitttg ^xllsi 



THE UNDERSTANDING HILLS 

YOU who are torn in spirit and in mind, 
Whose soul the cup of grief has drained 

To its last, bitter dregs, 

When the first poignant shock has waned 

Leaving you weak yet filled with strange de- 
spair, 

Weep not since weeping must be vain 

But go you up in the high hills 

Just ere the coming of the rain. 

Watch you the gathering clouds of storm 

Brooding from crest to crest 

And blotting out each towering peak's grim 
form 

Then suddenly their shifting shapes unite 

And with unbroken front advance 

To pour their sodden might 

Upon the face of Nature. All the world 

Now blighted doth appear and glooms with 
shades of night. 

[ I ] 



Yet, though the world you watch at darkest 

seems, 
Know that those hills which In the distance lie 
Already may from tempest's wrath be freed, 
Already may be basking 'neath a friendly sky. 
Wait but a little while 
And where you watch will from its gloom 

emerge — 
As swiftly widening rifts in western heavens 

smile, 
As golden waves of sunlight then re-surge 
Over each stricken thing which soon they purge 
Of black despair and sullen hopelessness. 
The world, with joys re-found, is glad once 

more, 
Forgetting things which grieve through things 

which bless. 



[ 2 ] 



You who are torn In spirit and In mind, 

Yes — go you up among the understanding 

hills 
For oft, when falls all else, those wounds kind 

nature heals. 
And In each aching heart her peace Instils. 



[ 3 ] 



A SPRING IDYLL 

A CLOUDLESS sky o'erhead, a genial 
sun 

Filtering its gleaming, amber rays 

Through branches and the newly-budding 
leaves, 

Dappling the forest floor for our enchanted 
gaze 

With shadows and with patches of bright gold. 

In the mild air the smell of earth and earthy 
mold 

And scent of tiny blooms awakened by the lays 

Of murmuring streams which onward madly 
race 

Singing of their release from winter's chill em- 
brace. 

A West wind whispers softly through the trees, 



[ 4 ] 



A drowsy hum of bees comes from the new-born 

flowers 
And thrushes chant their tuneful litanies 
From the green gloom of hidden, leafy bowers. 



[ 5 ] 



IN A PINE FOREST 

I WANDERED, lonely, 'mid the murmur- 
ing pines. 
Lonely, because my loved one was away. 
Lonely though all the forest seemed to sing 
With joy of flowers and birds and magic spring. 

Then suddenly my loneliness was gone 

As goes black night at coming of the dawn. 

For in the nodding form of each fair flower 
The image of my loved one was revealed 
And in the West wind's sighing through each 

tree 
I heard my loved one whispering to me. 



[ 6 ] 



F 



THE TAJ MAHAL 

AR, far from here beyond all Western 



seas 

I know a land where every passing breeze 
Wafts to me ancient lore and histories 
Voicing its tales through whisperings of the 

trees. 
Their leafy tongues respond to each caress 
Now murmuring low of rulers and their queens 
Who lived and saw and loved and died — ah 

yes, 
For death from kings a harvest also gleans. 
But when come tempests and wild storm winds 

blow, 
They moan strange tales of famine, plague or 

blight, 
Of secret murders, war and wide-spread woe, 
For this is India whereof I write. 



[ 7 ] 



In this far land there Is a tomb so fair 
That those who view Its wondrous loveliness 
Are held spell-bound, forgetting every care 
While grief and pain grow for the moment less. 
Built by the mighty Shah Jehan it stands 
Of love's great power convincing monument; 
Though of an age and living In those lands 
Where men took many wives, he was content 
With only one. But so adored was she 
That, when death claimed her, single he re- 
mained 
For all his days and in her memory 
Took oath that, ere his reign had waned, 
He would erect a tomb which should outlast 
In beauty and In perfect symmetry 
All tombs of years to come, of ages past. 



I 8 ] 



Better that we forget the cruelty, 

The suffering endured by countless slaves 

Who for long, weary months did toil and 

sweat. 
Yes — even finding through this work their 

graves : 
The architect lest he should e'er beget 
Another wonder-child that might compare 
Was robbed of eyes. All this we must forget 
Since most great things to which the world falls 

heir 
Are consummated only when a debt 
Of pain or death or sorrow has been paid. 
Few men who wrought with pen and conquer- 
ing sword 
Have traced more lastingly with ink or blade 
Upon the sands of time, their names' record 



[ 9 ] 



Than this frail woman whose distinction lay 
But through her being able to Inspire 
A love which knew not how or wished to stray 
E'en after perished was its heart's desire. 

'Mid shrubbery and trees this fair tomb lies, 
Along an entering path white fountains play, 
A pearl set in the turquoise of rare skies 
And emeralds, thus it seems to one by day. 
Within, reign solemn stillness and gray gloom, 
Attendants, silent-footed, vigil keep 
And scatter o'er two graves the jasmine's 

bloom 
Where now a man and wife sleep their last 

sleep ; 
For after death, his wishes were obeyed. 
The Shah Jehan was laid beside his love. 
Upon request and If a trifle paid 
Some guardian chants soft notes; dim heights 

above 

[ lo ] 



Take up the sounds each depth re-echoing 
Till sweet, low chords are filtered downward 

when, 
Like music of some heavenly choir, these ring 
Then die away as dies a hushed amen. 

At dusk most lovely is the tomb to me: 
White marble walls with precious stones in- 
laid 
Take on the tint of ancient ivory 
As the rich, golden light begins to fade; 
A bit of carving o'er the Western door 
Appearing almost like some rare, old lace. 
The sun still lingering as though it forebore 
To leave such an attractive resting-place. 
More human now It seems and less apart 
As if a gentle mother who doth hark 
To her sad children with kind, pitying heart. 
And now the sky Is swiftly growing dark 
For twilight here lasts but a moment brief; 

[ II ] 



Dim, dimmer still those fairy outlines show, 
One hears the patter of some falling leaf 
Or just a near-by fountain's rythmic flow. 
All else is wrapped in silence tense, profound. 
More ghostly looms the tomb in this weird 

light 
As though some mist-like curtain fell around, 
A warning vanguard of approaching night. 
Then soon black darkness creeps out from its 

lair 
To stretch forth and envelop everything. 
A sudden chill pervades the evening air 
Yet long I sit there idly pondering 
On love, its wondrous joys. Its bitter pain. 
Does all the bliss for its griefs compensate? 
E'en while I muse the blackness yields again, 
For now there comes a moon to dissipate 



[ 12 ] 



The mists and lo ! that white, pure sepulchre 
Gleams out once more ethereal, shimmering, 
A silent but convincing arbiter. 
An answer to my thoughts and questioning. 



[ 13 ] 



L 



THE BIRTH OF LOVE 

OVE comes to some as comes the rising 



sun 

In tropic lands where momentary dawn 
Gives briefest warning of a day begun 
And scarce are stars behind their veils with- 
drawn 
When, bold, Impetuous mounts this ball of light 
O'erwhelming night as upward now it darts. 
Just so this passion-love, born of first sight, 
O'erwhelms with sudden rush some human 
hearts. 

To others, love comes as the evening star 
When we sit at the close of day and gaze 
With weary eyes fixed on the heavens afar. 
Vast, opalescent dome kissed by pale rays 
Of a fast waning sun. We stare and stare 
Yet view naught save a vacant wall of sky 
Which shades to hue of sapphires as the air 
[ 14 ] 



Is tinged with sudden chill and from on high 
Down slides the fiery orb behind gray hills, 
Into sad valleys of gone yesterdays. 
Lulled by a peace which this fair scene in- 
stils, 
We droop our lids, perchance, like one who 

prays, 
Just for the briefest count, and now behold ! 
When once again we look that darkening wall 
Is bare no more; a twinkling point of gold. 
Still pale and vague but quite defined withal, 
Peeps forth at us in bashful loveliness. 
This waxing star was surely there before 
As were the loves of some who little guess 
E'en their Incipient births until the door 
Of lonely hearts has long been left ajar. 
And so, as with this child of twilight skies, 
Those loves, which yearning hearts may not 

debar. 
Are oft long gazed at with unseeing eyes. 

[ IS ] 



TO ONE WHO SAILED AWAY 

HOW sinks the heart and falls 
When to far lands we watch depart 
some ship 
That bears one loved till, fading out, Its sails 
Below the sky line dip. 

Then still we gaze and gaze 

Towards where their ship was swallowed In the 

main, 
Yet knowing well that for long, weary days 
Our gazing must be vain. 



[ i6 ] 



Most eyes are dimmed by tears; 
Some men weep not, but is their grief the less? 
For to each inner soul come nameless fears 
And ah ! such loneliness. 

O ship, swift blow the wind 
That wafts thee far, so earlier be thy start 
For havens here with one beloved to find 
The haven of a heart. 



[ 17 ] 



THE WITCHES' REVENGE 

DEEP In the Southern forests' eerie, mid- 
night gloom, 
When lightning flashes and thunder crashes 
They ride, each on a broom, 
Great witches gaunt with eyes that haunt, 
Foul lips that shriek of doom. 

As each one dashes by, the branches catch her 

hair 
And this attaches In queer, gray patches. 
You see them everywhere. 
Such branches die and shrivel dry. 
The wItch-haIr still clings there. 



[ i8 ] 



TO ONE BELOVED 

AS chill, gray mists of early morn 
All vanish at the sun's caress, 
So flee my cares do I but see 
Thy loveliness. 

Yet fairest flowers. If deprived 
Of moisture or God-given dew, 
Must surely perish; likewise I 
If robbed of you. 



[ 19 ] 



LINES AND WHAT LIES BETWEEN 

LOOK with the magic of thine eyes 
On these dull lines then thou must see 
A wealth of words between them lies, 
Words traced in love from me to thee. 

For each one that defined doth grow 
I pray thee from thy heart to send 
Me back a thought so I may know 
That thou dost surely comprehend. 



[ 20 ] 



TO THE NORTH WIND IN WINTER 

WIND of the North! 
Wind from the land of everlasting 

snows ! 
What are the weird, wild sounds 
You bear upon your wintry blast; 
Are they some un-stilled echoes of your cradle 

song? 
Was it 'mid frigid cliffs of glaciers gaunt and 

bleak, 
Beneath a shuddering sky which knows no sun, 
That you were given birth. 
Or in dank, brooding caverns vast, ice-walled. 
Reverberating with the wail 
Of subterranean seas? 



[ 21 ] 



At your command, 

Behold ! great rivers check their onward flow 
And lakes and pools are cased in cloaks of cry- 
stal mail. 
Each, fettered by the icy bonds you weld, 
Must sleep until there comes a vernal sun 
Whose rays contain the dissipating key. 

And do you lonely grow, at times. 
Your dreaded sister of the East 
Is summoned from her fog-encumbered skies; 
At touch of your chill breath 
Her veil of mist to veil of snow is changed. 
Then, with a potency two-fold. 
Together you assail and flay a cowering world. 
Great forests are laid low, great ships de- 
stroyed, 



[ 22 ] 



God's handiwork and man's — and men them- 
selves — 

While over all, 

The maimed, the slain, you drop a blinding 
shroud 

To mask your wanton deeds. 

Blow, mighty North Wind, blow 

Across the Arctic Seas, 

Through valleys, over hills, to the abodes of 

man. 
Roar down our chimneys and with sudden gusts 
Dash salvos of harsh sleet against the window 

panes 
And make us draw more closely 'round the 

hearth, 



[ 23 ] 



Thankful to fate 

That we are warm and safe Inside. 

But, when In kindlier mood, 

As part atonement for your cruelty. 

Spread fertilising blankets o'er the planted 
fields. 

The thirst of drought-parched springs assuage 

And weave for our wondering eyes with mys- 
tic snow 

On bush, on tree, on those same window panes 

Fantastic figures which outvie. 

In magic of design, the very stars. 



[ 24 ] 



TO THE SOUTH WIND AS WINTER 
ENDS 

WIND of the South! 
Wind from the lands of sunshine and 
of flowers! 
How softly now you kiss the thawing fields, 
Stirring each sleeping thing and bidding it 

awake, 
Crooning through fir and pine. 
Through every bush and tree, 
Your resurrection song. 

Behold ! At your approach, the ice and snow 
Which long have shackled fast the passive 

earth. 
Swift disappear, 

The cloak of faded brown that lies beneath, 
Changing in turn to one of living green 
As every plant gives heed 
And bares frail, verdant shoots to your caress. 

[ 25 ] 



The long-stilled waters of small brooks and 
pools, 

Of lakes, of rivers, burst the crystal film 

Which binds with chill, monotonous embrace. 

Then soon these waters once again resume 

Their various play and happy murmurlngs 

While in their mirror surfaces 

We watch the lazy clouds go sailing by. 

In these same waters, too. 

The sun, deprived of them for many a day. 

His glowing face may lave; 

The stars and moon 

A thirst, too long endured, this night may sat- 
isfy. 

Blow, balmy South Wind, blow 

From far-off tropic seas, 

Through forests carpeted with giant ferns 

And strange, exotic blooms 

Which thrive but In the Impenetrable shade; 

[ 26 ] 



Where gorgeous butterflies drift to and fro 

Seeming like bits of rainbows given life. 

Blow through broad groves of stately palms 

And stoop sometimes to moisten parched lips 

In lily-covered lakes. 

Then, wafting on your healing, amorous blast 

Perfumes from each place visited, 

Steal through our windows in the early dawn, 

Bringing the Sleeper treasure-dreams 

Of Springs already past, 

Bringing to those who lie with wakeful eyes 

A fragrant promise of glad Springs to come. 



[ 27 ] 



BECAUSE OF THEE 

BECAUSE of thee, 
Things which to me were meaningless 
before 
I now can view with comprehending eyes; 
The forest gives me of its secret lore 
And nature bares her hidden mysteries. 

Because of thee, 

Music I scarce gave ear to in past years 
Now charms and thrills me with a mystic power 
And sometimes brings to eyes strange, sudden 

tears 
Or makes me heedless of the fleeting hour. 



[ 28 ] 



Because of thee, 

At dawn the heavens gleam with hues more 

rare, 
More beauty In the sun-set skies 1 see, 
The flowers grow more fragrant and more fair, 
The whole world seems more wonderful to 

me. 



[ 29 ] 



MEMORIES , 

HOW sad at times seem recollected words, 
Words that were murmured with our 
loved one's fleeting breath, 
And sad the memory of a last caress ; 
Who IS it calls thee kind, O death? 

How sad is just an empty, little glove 
Which still retains the fragrance of a van- 
ished hand, 
The haunting odor of some favorite flower, 
The sudden end of things we planned. 

And ah! how sad is music or a song 

Dear to those gone before, whose words and 

strains remind; 
Echoes from lands of all that might have been; 
O death, I ne'er could call thee kind! 



[ 30 ] 



F 



TO A LOVED ONE 

AIR as the vision of a summer moon 
Reflected on the bosom of an inland 



sea 

Or of bright stars viewed near the edge of 

thunder clouds, 
Thou art so fair to me. 

Dear as the memories of days gone by, 
Days when I knew not pain or e'en a single 

tear. 
Of gladdest dreams and things most treasured 

In past years, 
To me thou art so dear. 

Sweet as the fragrance of arbutus blooms 
Which trail in mossy nooks and thrive from 

man apart 
Or of a full-blown orchard visited at dusk. 
So sweet to me thou art. 

[ 31 ] 



NATURE'S SECRET 

FOR ages men have sought in vain to 
learn 
Of Alchemy the secret; how to turn 
Plain silver into gold, 

One thing into another of a greater worth. 
But nature still the answer doth withhold 
Though flaunting her own power through 

methods manifold; 
For as the sun up-mounts the sky each morn, 
Where moon-made silver lay the night before, 
Patches of shimmering gold these spots adorn 
And what were naught but dew-drops, if we 

now explore 
Behold I bright crystals in their stead are born. 



[ 32 ] 



LETTERS AND ART 

This poem was written to be read before the <> B K 
Society at the annual meeting held in Philadelphia, Decem- 
ber, 1915. 

LETTERS and Art! 
What magic lies in these twin-sister 
words, 
They conjure up what wealth of mental imagery 
For all who strive to understand, 
Who seek to press beyond those narrow paths 
Which bound the little lives of everyday. 
Letters and Art ! Two potent words 
For ever they must help to shape men's des- 
tinies. 



To-day — perhaps to-morrow — we discuss 
Brave records of some world-inspiring deed, 
Some noble act. 



[ 33 ] 



Some goal attained by might of sword alone; 
And yet how soon these records all must pass 
Into oblivion's void 
Unless they be writ down within the book of 

years 
By Art's deep-graving tool 
Or clear illumined letter of the Scribe. 



Art came to man ere letters. First up-sprung 

The glories of an Ancient Greece, 

Fair wonder-forms of stone which still stand 

forth 
As mighty monuments to master-minds. 
Long ages have elapsed 
Since these great children of great thoughts 
Were given birth and shape, 
Yet still from zone to zone, 
O'er all the vast world civilised, 
Unto this day 



[ 34 ] 



Greece shows the perfect models of a perfect 

art. 
Though we be quite un-knowing, art must ever 

weave 
Refining bonds of influence 
Around our high desires and mold our very 

lives. 



As centuries rolled by 

Vain men have sought to innovate 

Creations of their own, 

Yet most creations which survive 

The sure, discriminating test of time, 

Contain some element defined or classic sign 

Filched from a Greek original. 



Then, in a flood all glorious, letters came. And 

now. 
When we the pages of our books turn o'er, 
[ 35 ] 



What treasures lie exposed for wondering 

eyes. 
According to our momentary mood, 
Here we the Inmost thoughts may share 
Of poet, sage, philosopher 
Whose words are vital on this very day 
Though the man breathing them is dead 
Perhaps a thousand years ago. 
And so we learn that deeds of men 
Die not when men die but. If good or bad. 
Writ down may live immortalised 
And given thus to all posterity, 
Are praised or are despised. 



So If we but reflect each one must comprehend 
What wealth of dower comes to all 
Who seek and woo successfully 



[ 36 ] 



Or art's elusive muse or literature's; 

For surely it must thrill the human soul 

To feel that one's own thoughts 

May be transmitted to one's fellow men 

Through mediums far-reaching and secure 

Of painting, writing, music or the sculptor's 

craft. 
And surely this same knowledge should bring 

forth 
All that is best in us and should inspire 
Each one to seek fair, lofty goals 
Which seemed beyond our reach before. 

Such passion for expression knows no bounds; 
Even the uncouth savage who exists 
Merely from day to day, 



[ 37 ] 



Whose life's horizon bounded seems 

By lusts for food, for flesh, for fighting and for 
sleep, 

Not far removed from animals he lives, he 
dies. 

Yet most of these same savages 

On rocks, on clay may trace their crude de- 
signs, 

Recording thus their narrow, void careers 

And fashion forms of pottery 

In primitive attempt at art. 

Once even such as they create, they pass be- 
yond 

The small, ignoble few 

Who in an uncreating darkness dwell. 

It might well be maintained 

That men's gradation in the human scale 

May be adjudged 

By what each has of letters or of art. 

[ 38 ] 



And we who gather in this hall to-night 

I am quite sure experience at times 

Strange feelings not unmixed with awe 

At sight of some fair monument, 

Of painting rare, of temple's sacred fane 

Or when some passage exquisite we scan 

Or listen to the pulsing, rythmic throb 

Of music's magic strains. 

Why that same awe to wonder turns 

And of a sudden comes to inmost selves the 

thought 
That these same things of beauty may have 

charmed 
Ten thousand times ten thousand eyes, 
Ten thousand times ten thousand ears. 

And whether we be moved by master-works 

of man 
Or master-works by God and nature formed, 

[ 39 ] 



Emotions much the same In most of us are 
born. 

Silent perhaps, we listen or we gaze 

Yet filled with many words which, though un- 
voiced, 

Contain the mystic quality of prayer. 



[ 40 ] 



THE DIFFERENCE 

I LISTEN to the words of some and yet 
They make no more impression than a 
wind 
Which darts across still pools and leaves be- 
hind 
The surface ruffled where it stoops to wet 
Parched lips, then hurries swiftly on once more. 
Faint ripples mark each spot; they widen, wane 
And in a moment all is calm again. 
The pools more placid seeming than before. 



[ 41 ] 



But mighty glaciers of an age long past, 
That forced from mountain heights their cer- 
tain way, 
Though vanished now themselves, on rocks, on 

clay, 
On everything which touched those borders 

vast 
Have deeply carved their record, lasting, clear. 
Yet not more deeply, not more lastingly 
Than now Is carved upon my memory 
Each word that thou hast voiced for me to 
hear. 



[ 42 ] 



BELIEF 

SURELY you were not born, dear love, 
As we poor mortals here were given 
birth. 
Ah, no I I think some radiant star 
Fell, weary, from the heavens above 
And you had come to grace, a while, our earth. 

Surely, dear love, you cannot die 

As others must who live upon this sphere. 

Ah, no I A fair, new star will be 

Discovered in the evening sky 

Then we will find that you are gone from here. 



[43 ] 



TO A WILD ROSE 

BORN with the breath of wood nymphs 
fanning thee, 
Laved by the early morning dew, 
Thy shade of pink was filched from Eastern 

skies 
Just ere the sun appeared in view. 

As this sun rose, thy heart became pale gold, 
All day its warmth helped thee to grow. 
At eve a drowsy brook lulls thee to rest. 
Thy slumber song the night winds blow. 

Wild rose we name thee while thou givest us 

Thy fair, pink beauty and sweet scent, 

Or is this not the wood nymphs' fragrant 

breath 
Which fanned and made thee redolent? 



[ 44 ] 



IN A MIRROR 

IF near my lips a mirror should be held 
I think upon Its surface thou couldst see, 
Were I awake or In my hours of dreams, 
Thy dear name breathed in mist-like tracery. 



[ 45 ] 



THREE QUESTIONS 

THERE came one to me asking questions 
three ; 
*' Hast thou e'er been aroused from some fair 

dream 
And, while but half awake, thought that to 

thee 
Came strains of music which did almost seem 
As though from Heavenly choirs they must 

be?'' 
" Nay," answered I. " Yet, even were all 

mine the choice, 
More wonderful to me would be my loved one's 

voice." 

Then, questioning again, my friend inquired 
" Hast thou perchance sat on some winter night 
Before thy lonely hearth when it transpired 
That thou didst feel a ghostly touch though 
sight 

[46 ] 



Revealed not one whom thou hadst most de- 
sired? " 

** Nay," I replied, " such things I need not un- 
derstand 

For I may feel and see my own beloved's 
hand." 

" Now tell me finally, hast thou e'er trod 
With faltering feet upon thy weary way 
When, suddenly, it seemed as if kind God 
Awarded that for which thou oft didst pray. 
Hast thou e'er glimpsed at Heaven nor deemed 

this odd?" 
" Yes," I replied, " my friend," he looked up 

in surprise, 
" Yes, often, have I gazed into my loved one's 

eyes." 



[ 47 ] 



TO THOSE WHO VIGIL KEEP 

SOMETIMES the look of pain or utter 
weariness 
On a dear face of one about to leave 
For unknown realms we mortals may not guess, 
Is banished even as we watch and grieve 
While, in Its place, 
A sweetness, ah I how wonderful, doth now 

succeed. 
As though. In death, we saw reflected on this 

face 
Expressions of the angels who have come 
From those far realms beyond the stars to lead 
Our waiting loved one home. 



[ 48 ] 



IN A GARDEN 

I SAT one day within a garden fair 
Pining for thee and sad because alone, 
Wishing some fate could send thee to me there. 

All things appeared to share my saddened 

mood, 
Each flower drooped, the sun was hid from 

view, 
The very birds in silence seemed to brood. 

Then, as I day-dreamed with my eyes half 

closed. 
Sudden the birds began to sing again. 
The flow'rs, uplifting heads, no longer dozed. 

Thinking the sun had come once more for me 
And for all nature, to effect such change, 
I turned and lol saw not the sun but thee. 

[ 49 ] 



SUNSET AND THUNDER CLOUDS 

GREAT banks of storm clouds, leaden- 
hued, appear 
Up-mounting in far, Western, sunset skies, 
Each border shifting shape as the clouds rise. 
Now jagged peak, now chasm yawning sheer. 

These armies of the mist the sun now claim 
Yet, in his waning, potent still he seems 
For, as he is engulfed, each cloud-edge gleams 
And sudden bursts into a fringe of flame. 



[ 50 ] 



BENEATH A WINDOW 

DEAR heart, beneath your window, 
I picture in my mind a bed of flowers, 
Rare, tiny, fragrant violets. 
Lifting fair faces to the sun and showers. 



For did you not confide that once 

You leaned without and wept through loneli- 
ness? 

So now I think there must be sprung 

A bloom where fell each tear which you con- 
fess. 



[ 51 ] 



THE SCENT OF ROSES 

AS written letters, on a page that burns, 
Grow faint and fainter till some magic 
flame, 
Quite different from the others, makes each 

name 
Stand out distinct just ere the paper turns 
To pale, gray ashes; so likewise with me 
When fades thy vision in my wearied brain 
And comes the scent of roses. For again, 
As if by magic, now immediately 
The vision rises clear and sharp defined. 
Yet, to each dying word those flames renew 
Its life but for a moment while I view 
Thy face within my strengthened brain en- 
shrined 
Long after fail these perfumes which remind. 



[ 52 ] 



THE ISLAND OF FORGETFULNESS 

THERE is an Island in a far-off sea 
Which lies, like some rare emerald, in 
a blue 
As deep as that of sapphires yet but few 
E'er reach this isle to anchor in the lea, 
Though many start weighed down by misery. 
The skies overhead are always wondrous fair. 
The spring Is never-ending and the flow'rs 
Fade not or die ; the all too fleeting hours 
Are passed in bliss, each wholly free from care. 

'TIs called The Island of Forgetfulness; 
There dreams come true and what one most 

desires 
Is ne'er denied, but without fail transpires. 
All those who land and feel the soft caress 
Of winds that waft their welcome from the 

marge, 

C 53 ] 



Are charmed by some strange, unseen power 

and soon 
Forget the past; then God grants them the 

boon 
Of life just for the present, and in charge 
Of kindly fates who dry away all tears. 
And ah, how few are those who, when they 

reach 
The much-sought shores, are able to remain; 
Most stay a little while and then again 
Sadly they set their sails for lands where each 
Must tread once more the paths of grief and 

pain. 
Yet blest are all who rest e'en but a day 
In this retreat for as remembered dreams 
Oft-times refresh our waking thoughts. It 

seems 
The memories of glad hours of joy convey 
New strength to help us on our weary way. 

[ 54] 



This island you and I may also know, 
Perchance to-morrow or in after years; 
But we can surely find it if love steers 
Our seeking ship and we together go; 
Nor matters then how stormy winds may blow. 



[ 55 ] 



THE SEA 

HOW many secrets does this vast thing 
keep, 
This thing men call the sea, and in its depths, 
How many of these men lie silently. 
Grim victims of a might they fought in vain? 



Great vessels boldly start to sail across 

These waters, vessels boasting of their strength; 

Then strikes the tempest, hungry waves up- 
reach; 

Where are those vessels, where this vaunted 

power? 

Some stagger to their ports in crippled shape 

While others, after struggling for a while. 

Give up the fight with final, frantic plunge. 



[ 56 ] 



Slowly they sink at first but gather speed 
When now mad waters lap their topmost rails, 
Then down each slides with sullen, sobbing 

sound 
Muffled by roar of gale and conquering wave. 
A few on board may manage to escape 
And bring home awesome tales for wondering 

ears. 
Tales of sad, aimless drifting in small boats, 
Wild hunger, deadly thirst and hideous fears. 
The rest, — a helpless crew on helpless ships, 
Bound for strange ports uncharted and un- 

guessed. 
While through the shattered windows or the 

doors. 
Huge fish and loathsome, slimy creatures pass 
Searching each corner — weird, unwelcome 

guests. 



[ 57 ] 



If wind and wave have failed to satisfy 
With victims for an ocean's greedy maw 
Perchance the ice receives its fell command; 
Floating almost submerged and hard to view, 
A fearful bulk which rends the stoutest plank. 
Or sight-destroying fog through which men 

pass 
Yet cannot see and so run on dread rocks. 
Or sunken reefs which stretch forth waiting 

arms, 
Like clinging tentacles, and gather toll. 
Yes, many weapons does this vast thing know 
But deadliest, — those battered, drifting hulks 
Abandoned by their crew, with decks awash, 
No lights to warn at night, — the derelicts. 
Grim vagary of fate that these ghost-ships 
Already perished, should be left to give 
A death blow to those other ships which sail 
Unconscious of this menace, till it strikes. 

[ 58 ] 



" Creature of moods thou art, O mighty sea, 
With temper ruled by whence the winds may 

blow. 
If come fair breezes from thy Southern shores 
Reminding thee of tropic heat and calms, 
Quite lazily thou art content to drowse. 
When storms descend recalling gale-swept 

coasts, 
As though in sympathy thy bosom heaves, 
And thou dost rise in wild, tumultuous rage. 

" Most things which hear thy call, the ships, the 

men, 
Small mountain streams that start on distant 

way 
Acquiring strength as other streams join in. 
And finally, great rivers, reach their goal, 
Most shall be lost in thy immensity. 



[ 59 ] 



The rivers when they cross thy bars, the 

ships, — 
Perchance their first day out should fate agree, 
Or mayhap some will sail until long years 
Have caused each plank to rot ; thou wilt obtain 
Just worthless bones. All men who do persist 
In tempting thy forbearance over long, 
As grim reward these also dost thou claim. 

" Below thy surface, In thy silent deeps, 
A weird and watery world without a sky. 
We know tall mountains, valleys, plains, exist 
Quite like those here above. And yet for us 
Who know thy ways, we picture in these deeps 
A land of gruesome harbors for dead ships, 
Of tombs for perished men, a land of ghosts, 
Mysterious gloom and everlasting night.'* 



[ 60 ] 



AS A MIRROR — SO MY HEART 

FOR those who stricken lie upon their beds 
of pain, 
The plain, gray mirror by some window placed 
Is turned, when comes the day, into a magic 

thing 
On which the wonders of a world outside are 

traced. 
Yet this same magic thing when vanishes the 

day, 
Becomes again naught but a mirror plain and 

gray. 



And so my heart when thou approacheth near, 
Thrilling with strange, sweet joys, becomes a 

treasure-store 
Yet when thou dost depart, ah then, dear love, 
Only an empty heart it Is once more. 

[ 6i ] 



TO A VIOLET 

FROM what vast, secret, hidden source 
Dost thou obtain thy wondrous dower 
Of fragrance and fair loveliness, 
O little, purple flower? 

Thy beauty shames that of the rose 
While on thy virgin breast, at dawn, 
Gleam dew-drops, — Nay, are they the tears 
Of fairies just now gone? 

And from thy heart dost thou dispense 
Perfumes of lands both East and West; 
Mysterious combination rare; 
Yes, thou art very blest. 



[ 62 ] 



HOW DIFFERENT 

AS thrills a harp when struck by certain 
hands, 
Seeming, almost, as though with life imbued 
But answers not for others when they seek 
Upon its potent silence to intrude. 



So, at the magic of a loved one's touch, 
Our heart strings throb and thrills our inmost 

soul, 
Yet both for others unresponsive lie, 
Nor matter with what wiles these would cajole. 



[ 63 ] 



At times a forest dell, In shadow still, 

Quite dull appears though graced with many a 

flower. 
Then comes the sun or moon, at once for us 
This spot Is changed Into a perfect bower. 



And often when we stand within some room, 
Though filled with many persons it may be. 
Lonely and void the room seems to our eyes 
Until the face of one beloved we see. 



[ 64 ] 



AUTUMN 

AFTER THE FIRST FROST 

SOME Spirit of the North has hovered 
near, 
First vanguard of great hosts which follow on 
Perchance to-day, perchance not yet awhile; 
But they have left the land of lasting snows 
And like grim fates are started on their way. 
Already plants and trees have felt the breath 
That withers and destroys their verdant life; 
A seared and yellow leaf, a wilted bloom, • 
A shade of brown where yesterday was green. 
These tell us that the Summer now is o'er, 
While Autumn drear and sad comes on apace. 



[ 65 ] 



Henceforth all nature drowses and doth seek 
Some sheltered spot where it may lie and rest 
Through Winter days grown brief and length- 
ening nights, 
In that deep slumber so akin to death. 
The wind that whispered softly through the 

trees, 
Blows fitfully and moans with ghost-like sound, 
Voicing its tale of coming frost and snow. 

Wild creatures both of forest and of field 
Heed well the warning that is given them. 
No longer do we hear an insect's drone, 
The booming sound of frogs or hum of bees; 
For they have found, each one, a hidden lair 
And in these dark retreats their silence keep. 
Look closely, you will see the tiny squirrels 
In busy search for nuts and various food 
Which now for future use they hoard away, 
Oblivious to their present hunger-cry. 
[ 66 ] 



The birds of flight have heard the Southing call 
And wing their certain way to warmer climes : 
Whence comes the mystic call and how con- 
veyed 
Just what directs that straight, unerring flight, 
Is known to God, but not to you and me. 



Ah ! Strangely quiet is the wood to-day 
Since nature now to rest hath lain her down 
But we have faith this stillness cannot last, 
That at some future time when comes the 

spring, 
Warm, conquering winds will blow from out the 

South 
And drive back to their frozen, ice-bound 

shores, 
Chill spirits of the North which long held sway. 
Then birds will sing again, this forest gloom 
As if by magic touch will disappear; 

[ 67 ] 



The plants and trees will waken from their 

dreams, 
All living things that creep or move on wings, 
Each, — strengthened by its long, life-giving 

sleep. 



[ 68 ] 



THE WITCHING HOUR 

TO those who stroll amid cool forests' 
gloom 
There comes at times the fragrance of some 

bloom 
Which grows unseen and hidden from all view 
Yet sends this perfumed message to the few 
Who happen near, and makes its presence 

known. 
Likewise, sometimes when I sit quite alone, 
A sudden feeling comes that thou art there 
Invisible yet close beside my chair. 



But when almost expectantly I turn, 

Both hands outstretched towards what I can 

discern 
Only with eyes tight closed, then instantly 
I realise that thou art fled from me 

[ 69 ] 



As fragrance of the hidden bloom swift flees 
Before some vagrant, dissipating breeze, 
Giving us but its memory to remind. 
Yet thy departing spirit leaves behind 
A subtle pledge, for I could almost swear 
There lingers on the fragrance of thy hair. 
More dear to me than scent of rarest flowers, 
A comfort in my dark and lonely hours. 



[ 70 ] 



THE SEA WOLVES 

GREAT, slimy monsters of the cruel sea, 
Wolves of a watery world, relentless, 
grim. 
How stealthily on gruesome quest they move. 
Searching the depths with small, pale, lidless 

eyes; 
Unblinking, sleepless both by night and day. 
Naught in their puny brains save lust for blood; 
Ready to dash at, seize and then devour 
Even a crippled brother; none are spared. 



In vessels' ruffled wakes they trail along 
Or sullenly drift by whene'er, becalmed 
These vessels wallow, windless, in the trough 
With sails reflected on a glassy sea. 
Sudden is cleft the surface by sharp fins 
Attached to shadow-bulks that glide beneath. 

[ 71 ] 



" The Sharks ! The Sharks ! " Strong men 

pass on these words 
Then hurry, each one curious, to the rail; 
Seeming by some odd fascination held. 
At those detested shapes spell-bound they gaze. 
To most come thoughts, unsummoned, of far 

homes 
Which sudden seem more distant than before. 
Some few may coarsely jest, a few may curse 
But In the hearts of all I think there creeps 
A feeling of strange awe, of loneliness. 

Should storms descend 

Resistless, overwhelming these proud ships 
Until, sad, battered hulks they disappear. 
As each one slowly sinks, the sharks now swim 
In ever lessening circles then, grown bold. 
They pass through shattered doors and soon be- 
come 
Weird pilots for uncharted ports unguessed. 

[ 72 ] 



" Quite different from most other things which 

swim, 
Strange mammals giving birth unto your young, 
With mouth so placed that you must partly 

turn 
On back or side ere you may seize your prey. 
With fangs, saw-edged, arranged like shears to 

cleave 
And pointing down towards maws Insatiate 
So things once seized upon cannot escape. 
When vou were planned, 
Great, loathsome gluttons, feared, abhorred by 

all. 
Aye! Nature surely was in hateful mood." 



[ 73 ] 



THE TENNIS MATCH 

KEEN and alert and with combative eye, 
Two white-clad figures on a ground of 
green, 
They face each other with the net between. 

For one brief count immovable they poise 
(As hawks poise sometimes ere they down- 
ward sheer) 
Then darts across the net a speeding sphere. 

Driven by hard-swung racket, this now seems 
A signal which brisk, sudden action brings; 
Each white-clad figure into motion springs. 



[ 74] 



silent, their straining lips tight-pressed, they 

glide 
With panther-grace and swiftly flashing feet, 
A point to press or an attack to meet. 



And when the match is o'er, a word of praise 
To victor by the vanquished — no Ill-will; 
The game, the fight good sportsmanship Instil. 



[ 75 ] 



AT PARTING 

FAREWELL! Ah drear, sad word, 
thou canst but bring 
Long heart-aches and an ending of the spring 
To those who love and yet must separate. 
Still, they have hopes of meeting soon again 
While treasured recollections lessen pain; 
The past Is theirs; to-morrows they await. 

Yes, far more sad are those who say good-bye 
For always and who, hopeless, weep or sigh 
At thought of dear, glad hours that come no 

more ; 
Of glances from loved eyes now dimmed by 

death. 
Of words low murmured with the fleeting 

breath. 
Oh thoughts which haunt and burn! Oh days 

of yore! 

[ 76 ] 



And now when thou and I perforce must go 
By different paths, remember that although 
These paths may wind and lead our steps afar, 
They will unite again. Grieve not since thus 
We are so blest with memories and for us 
The door of future years remains ajar. 



[ 77 ] 



DAWN IN JUNE 

THE world seems wrapped in hushed ex- 
pectancy, 
Stilled Is the sough of wind through reed and 

tree, 
Stilled are all night sounds but the rythmic 

drone 
Of insects which themselves have drowsy grown. 

The sky itself, the vaulted dome of space. 
Now turns more dark while each star shows its 

face 
A trifle brighter just as though It knew 
How soon in Eastern skies would come to view 
An orb before whose glowing, conquering fire, 
Starlight must pale then instantly expire. 



[ 78 ] 



And so, as oft-times things about to die, 
More lovely show themselves, likewise on high 
Those stars with two-fold radiance seem to 

shine ; 
They bathe all in their light yet naught define. 



A little while then far-off Eastern skies 

Are streaked with bars of gray as darkness 

dies. 
At this first sign some bird gives forth its call; 
Ten thousand others answer to enthrall. 
Each one, a listening mate that tends the brood, 
Hearing again sweet songs with which 'twas 

wooed 
And these combine in one great paean of joy, 
Soft wondrous music that could never cloy. 



[ 79 ] 



The very air throbs with glad melody 
As gray-streaked heavens brighten rapidly 
Changing dark shades for gay, prismatic hues 
Until the sun Itself comes to suffuse 
All nature with Its warm, life-giving rays. 
Pale mists swift vanish even as we gaze. 
Each blade of grass dries up Its dewy tears. 
Each thing, that breathes of night, now dis- 
appears. 



[ 80 ] 



WHEN A LOVED ONE IS NEAR 

WHEN a loved one is near, 
How eloquent the silence of deep 
woods, 
The piping of a robin in the rain, 
The song of thrushes watching o'er their 
broods. 



A sudden dash of sleet against the pane 
Or lisping patter of soft-drifting snow. 
The fire's cheerful crackle from the hearth 
When moaning storm winds blow. 



[ 8i ] 



How wonderful to watch the Eastern sky 
As darkness dies and dawn's bright hosts ap- 
pear 
Then later, see the daylight fade in turn, 
When a loved one is near. 

But with our loved one gone, 
These same things no unusual charm possess, 
Their meaning fails, we comprehend them not 
Yet oft they bring a strange, vague loneliness. 



[ 82 ] 



TO A STAR 

FAIR star of a fair, August sky, 
Child of the summer sun and moon. 
What is thy sudden, sweet, unlooked-for boon? 
Why dost thou shine so brilliant and outvie 
In radiance e'en thy parent orbs, ah why? 

Tell me, is it through sheer delight 

At thought of thy life scarce begun, 

That thou canst always wax when wanes the 

sun, 
Or is it not because from thy far height 
Thou dost watch o'er my love asleep this night? 



[ 83 ] 



B 



YOUTH AND OLD AGE 

Youth 

ESIDE my hearth, alone; the end of day; 
Yet not alone for crowding to my mind 
Come hopes and thoughts, an endless, glad 

array, 
Thrilling though scarcely half defined. 



The hopes of struggle sought and goals at- 
tained; 

Fond thoughts of love, full-crowned, bright 
days in store, 

While, 'mid the glowing flames, in fancy 
feigned, 

Are pictured faces quite unknown before. 

Ah Sleep I If these be lost when thou art 
gained. 

Thy realms I seek not to explore. 

[ 84 ] 



Old Age 
Beside my hearth; the end of day, alone; 
Yet not alone for to my weary brain 
Come trooping thoughts and memories one by 

one, 
Filling my soul with vague, strange pain. 



Sad thoughts of many things which might have 

been. 
Memories of wonder-days which come no more, 
And through the waning flames dear faces seen 
Of those who wait upon a distant shore. 
Ah God! If true oblivion sleep doth mean, 
Grant that I pass Its threshold o'er. 



[ 85 ] 



H 



IN JUNE 
OW fair and fragrant doth the wood- 



bine grow, 

Stretching forth tendrils over roof and wall, 
Clothing each stone in living green as though 
It heard and heeded Spring's awakening call; 
Yet close around thine open window there aloft, 

ah! there 
I think it grows more fragrant still, a little 

bit more fair. 

We mortals pass adown life's stony ways 
Finding our smiles and tears as God designs; 
Sometimes one joy for many a sorrow pays 
And so I'm sure that, just as with these vines. 
For us who know thy presence, see the won- 
der of thy face. 
Our lives are made more fragrant, the world 
seems a fairer place. 

[86 ] 



TO MOUNT ARARAT 

WITH hoary head uplifted 'mid the 
clouds 
Which wreathe its furrowed brow and veil its 

face 
Or draw far off a mighty height to show 
Stands Ararat dividing three great lands. 

'* O great, majestic mountain of all time 
Already wast thou old when came the ark 
To rest upon the loftiest of thy peaks, 
Safe refuge from a slow-subsiding flood 
Though all known other things were still sub- 
merged. 
Towering above thy fellows, thou hast seen 
The human race begin and pygmy man 
Contending, fighting, planning down the years; 
Yet came grim death alike to slave and king 
While thou didst gaze with pity or disdain. 

[ 87 ] 



" Mother thou art of streams which have their 

birth 
In thy vast, snow-girt flanks then hurry down 
To nourish mighty rivers in their turn 
And so bring gladness to a waiting world. 
At Dawn thou dost behold the rising sun 
When we below can see but fading stars, 
And this sun, later sinking in the West, 
Thine ice-crowned brow caresses with last rays, 
Yet elsewhere hover shadows and gray dusk. 
Black night descends, then comes an Eastern 

moon, 
With molten silver now thy slopes are bathed. 
Ethereal, shimmering in the pale, weird light; 
All nature looks, spell-bound all nature seems. 

" We men who live and die scarce comprehend 
Such beauty or thy great longevity; 
Unheeding storm and time, stand on supreme 
O rock of ages past, of years to come." 
[ 88 ] 



THE WHITE ROSE'S MISSION 

GO fair, pure flower, go 
Bearing sweet messages of love from 
me 
And tell the one to whom I send thee so 
Each thing I now tell thee! 

Then, with this mission o'er, 

Though fails thy fragrance and thy beauties 

fade, 
Mayhap thou wilt be placed in some safe 

drawer, 
'Mid other treasures laid. 

And though thy life be spent. 

Whene'er this drawer is visited, alone. 

My message, through thy dead yet clinging 

scent. 
Will live again for one. 

[ 89 ] 



TO THE FOUR WINDS 

O BALMY wind that comes from far off 
Southern Seas, 
O' fragrant wind that rests oft-times in placid 

leas 
Of islands coral-girt and steals their flowers' 

scent, 
About clear waters blue and bluest firmament 
Thou hast a tale for us. Also of giant palms, 
Huge, tropic ferns, white glare, moist heat 

and deadly calms. 

O Wind exhaling grief, East wind of mystery. 

All men shun thy embrace, while nature fear- 
fully 

Doth cower and despair till pass thy ghost-like 
wings, 

Dank, reeking palls called fog, the breath of 
seas, it brings 

[ 90 ] 



Great dread unto our hearts. These blinding 

mists provide 
A cloak for thy misdeeds which thou dost well 

to hide. 

And thou, great, boisterous wind that rushes 

madly forth 
From caves which gave thee birth far in the 

frozen North, 
Thou tellest us of lands whence come the snow 

and frost; 
Thou boastest of thy might and ships like 

feathers tossed 
Which thou didst hurl and wreck on reefs of 

ice-bound coasts. 
Too well we realise thine are not empty boasts. 

O healing, clearing breeze that comes from out 
the West, 

[ 91 ] 



Of all the winds that blow, the world doth love 

thee best. 
New life to things which live and vigor dost 

thou bring, 
A message of good cheer, a promise of the 

spring; 
Dark, lowering storm-clouds yield and flee at 

thy caress. 
Yes, thou art ever kind, O wind of happiness. 



[ 92 ] 



TO ONE AWAY 

HOW do I feel with thee away? 
Nay, — ask how feels the lonely, dark- 
ening night 
Bereft of moon and stars, or else the day 
Should it be robbed of sun and light. 

Or ask how feels the dying rose 

Deprived of moisture, or some clinging vine 

Whose prop is filched, whose life draws to its 

close ; 
Their answer would be mine. 



[ 93 ] 



TO ONE DEPARTED 

IN some safe, hidden drawer I laid away 
The pale blue flowers thou didst give to 

me 
When we two strolled, led by our destiny. 
Through shaded forest paths and thou didst 

say 
That thou didst care for me. Oh happy day 
And oft-remembered spot, where we both knew 
The ecstasies of love; how moments flew 
While death or pain in some dim future lay! 

Mayhap these forest paths, in days gone by. 
Were visited by other women fair 
Who gave such flowers or a lock of hair 
As tokens of their love, and, with a sigh, 
The men beside them, just as once did I, 
Received the tokens, with as tender care. 

[ 94 ] 



It may be also that, from time to time, 
These lovers, singly or together, came 
To know the smart of fleeting years or claim 
Of death; which meant that all their joys sub- 
lime 
Were past, and they could never more retrace 
Glad footsteps through their flowered, wooded 

path. 
And ah! how very sad the aftermath 
For us who ran with death our losing race. 
The death of fond hopes cherished long ago 
Or of a loved one. So, when more and more 
We suffer, stealing to our secret drawer. 
We gaze on faded, pale blue flow'rs, e'en 

though 
They are but ghosts of yester-year, we know. 



[ 95 ] 



And yet these flowers ever will retain 
Some subtle, haunting odor as of yore. 
So, In my drawers of memory, I store 
Dear but sad thoughts which help me live again 
Those days gone by, and which, as with the 

flowVs, 
Nor years nor death nor many suffering hours 
Can rob of all their fragrance, — or their pain. 



[ 96 ] 



COMPARISON 

THE little bird with plumage plain and 
dull 
Whose notes sound harsh, whose songs In 

sweetness fail, 
To Its own mate is e'en more wonderful 
Than bird of Paradise or nightingale. 

And so It Is with those who truly love; 
Observing just the best nor asking more. 
Although a world may scorn and disapprove, 
Each other's faults they see not — or Ignore. 



[ 97 ] 



THE STORY OF A ROSE 

AS died one day in early June 
Was born a tiny, crimson bloom 
Then, as it first gazed on the world, 
Your voice was heard within your room. 

For this small blossom, just a rose. 
Beneath your window had its birth, 
It looked to see whence came that sound. 
Observed the opening far from earth. 

Yes, though to you and me that height 
Would be as nothing, to the rose 
Long seemed the way to climb and steep ; 
The flower pondered ere It chose. 

Then, once again, your voice was heard. 
The bud, enraptured, thrilled with love: 
Henceforth impatiently it strove 
To gain your window high above. 

[ 98 ] 



Each day less distance intervened 
As ever up the blossom went, 
Each eve your voice came softly down 
As though in sweet encouragement. 

Then finally the goal was reached, 
The rose full-blown had won its race, 
But you had left that very day 
And moved to some far distant place. 

The flower clambered o'er the sill 
And peeped within, naught met its stare 
Except a vacant, lonely room; 
Ah! even flowers may feel despair. 

That night you came not or the next. 
The following morn some one espied 
A fading rose without your sash 
And idly wondered why it died. 

[ 99 ] 



TO ONE ABSENT 

OFTTIMES at saddest hour when breaks 
the pale, gray dawn, 
I waken from my slumber and dear dreams of 

thee; 
All nature starts to rouse, my blinds aside are 

drawn, 
Yet enters not the light, the hour is dark for 
me. 



Too soon I realise that I am here alone 
While thou art left in lands where comes nor 

grief nor pain; 
No pleasures of this world can for thy loss 

atone, 
I fain must seek thee in the world of dreams 

again. 



[ 100 ] 



H 



HOW STRANGE IT SEEMS 

AST thou e'er thought how passing 
strange It seems 
That often-tlmes grim tales of dreadful war 
and woe, 

Of saddest suffering, e'en a view of death it- 
self, 
Can leave the eyes quite dry; Is this not so? 

Then mayhap later, borne upon the breeze, 
Come strains of memory-hallowed music to our 
ears. 

Or comes the haunting fragrance of some little 
flower, 

And now these same eyes are suffused with 
tears. 



[loi] 



THE ABANDONED HOME 

APART, deserted, lonely now it stands. 
The one-time home of those who lived 
there for a space, 
Who heard the call of death, mayhap, or else 

of fate 
And went their sad ways to some other place. 



The lichen-covered gate that bars a path 
Which leads up to the house beneath great, 

hoary pines 
As though discouraging intruders who would 

pass 
Is held by twining branches of strong vines. 



[ 102] 



Perchance their seeds were planted by fair 

hands 
Of one who died herself ere she could view 

these things 
For which she once had stooped and dug to 

give them birth; 
We all may sow, but fate our answer brings. 

I tear aside this verdant, growing lock 

Yet, when I force my way, the tendrils which 

were rent 
Stretch out like clutching fingers of a drown- 
ing man 

To scratch and cling as though in fierce dissent. 



[ 103] 



I now approach the ivy-covered walls, 

The porch enclosed in woodbine and my final 

goal; 
Upon the fragrant breeze are borne In scented 

waves 
Perfumes of flow'rs from which it took sweet 

toll. 



And glancing o'er the lawn I see these blooms 
Of lilac, violet and crimson, garden rose 
That struggle to exist amid rank, choking 

weeds 
Whose sure encroachment means their lives 

must close. 



[ 104] 



The queer, stale odor of a place long sealed 
Gives me unpleasant greeting when I force the 
door 

And pass at length beyond Its threshold to a 
hall 

Re-echoing my footsteps on the floor. 

Unusual sounds for this deserted house, 
They now Intrude upon the silence of each 
room; 

I hear some frightened mice rush off with 

scurrying feet, 
A bat, disturbed, flits by Into the gloom. 



[105] 



Beside a great, wide open hearth I pause 
And picture in my mind how others took their 

stand 
Or sat on wintry nights before the cheerful 

blaze, 
What tales they would relate, what things were 

planned. 



A thousand eyes, no doubt, in by-gone years. 
Have gazed on this same hearth which also 

mine behold. 
Perchance some watched until the embers paled 

and died; 
How many of their fires are too grown cold? 



[io6] 



How many tiny beings first saw the light 

In these bare rooms explored when now I 
mount the stairs? 

How oft came death to claim those who await- 
ing lay 

Or those In slumber, taken unawares? 



I ponder o'er these things and all the while 
A low, weird sobbing of the wind comes to my 

ears. 
Nay, — is it sighing of departed ones returned 
To view again their home of former years? 



[ 107] 



I must away for light gives place to dusk, 
Already, here within, black night spreads out 

its pall, 
The sun slants long, gray shadows down the 

Western hills 
As now I step from out the ghostly hall. 



A pale, white moon appears and strikes Its 

fires 
Then kindles to bright gold up in the Eastern 

sky; 
The same moon knew those dwelling in this 

house, — will know 
All those to come when gone are you and I. 



[io8] 



A little sad and sobered by such thoughts, 
I wend my way once more down through the 

flow'rs and trees; 
The gate Is opened, closed; I leave this blighted 

spot 
To silence, to Its ghosts and memories. 



[109] 



YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

THE heavens yesterday were overcast, 
The sun was hid and all the world 
seemed drear 
But ah! what difference did this make to me 
For thou wast here. 



To-day the skies are blue and very fair, 
A golden Sun has gleamed since early dawn 
But ah I what difference does this make to me 
For thou art gone. 



[no] 



THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN 

DOWN In the steel-fringed, safe-deposit 
vaults 
Attendants there would watch her come and 

The strange, veiled woman always robed in 
black, 

While picturing In their minds the wealth her 
box might show 

Could It Inspected be; 

And yet each wondered why she came so fre- 
quently, 

At least a visit every week or so. 

Within one of the cell-like rooms 

She would withdraw then close fast to the door 

Remaining there, alone, sometimes an hour or 
more. 



[Ill] 



In summer, winter, spring and fall alike, 
For years she visited in this same way. 
Always mysterious and always robed in black, 
Until announcement of her death arrived one 

day. 
Not wealth of gold, of stocks or bonds were 

found 
When finally the box was opened up to view 
But just a lock of golden hair. 
The picture of a baby and one tiny shoe. 



[112] 



THEN AND NOW 

IN a fair garden spot 
I wandered once at noon 
Seeking brief respite from my dally toll; 
A wealth of blooms grew there, 
(Those blooms which welcome June) 
And clothed with scented coverlet the soil. 

It seemed naught could in fragrance to such 

flowers compare; 
But then, dear heart, I had not known thy hair. 

I viewed twin radiant stars 

Peep o'er the mountain's rim 

And kiss the valley pool with mystic light 

Then on Its surface clear 

Their shimmering features limn 

And tiny waves, by silvered beams, unite. 

[113] 



Could aught more lovely be In nature or in art? 
Ah then I had not known thine eyes, dear heart. 

I plucked a full-blown rose 
Still moist with dew of dawn 
And from it stole two petals crimson fair 
And pressed both to my lips 
Before upon the lawn 

I dropped them crushed yet making sweet the 
air. 

I thought naught could be softer than this rose 

full-blown 
But then, dear heart, thy lips I had not known. 



[114] 



WHY? 

A YOUTH had all but reached the pin- 
nacle of fame, 
Though scarce mature In years his was the 

name 
One heard on many a tongue. 

Fashioned like some Greek god, of noble mien 

was he, 
Possessed of every charm; his destiny 
Seemed bounded by the stars. 

But as he walked his lofty, well-earned path 

one day. 
At peace with all the world, care-free and gay, 
Death happened to pass near. 



[115] 



And though Death knew full well the promise 

of the youth, 
Observed his grace, his beauty, without ruth 
Death bore the lad away. 

Then later overtook a sickly, crippled man 
Who had already lived beyond the span 
Of years allotted most. 

Homeless he was and friendless, praying but 

to die, 
It seemed naught could his living justify; 
Unheeding, Death passed on. 



[ii6] 



IMPOSSIBILITIES 

SWEETNESS and loveliness and grace! 
Ah, dear one, how can it be true 
That others these same charms possess 
Which kindly fate dispensed to you? 

For I would swear that you were given, 
When fashioned by some magic deft. 
Of these fair charms each smallest part; 
How could for others aught be left? 



[117] 



THE SUBMARINE 

DESPISED, weird rover of the seas un« 
seen, 
Man-made leviathan with scales of steel. 
Abortion given birth by brains unclean! 

As might a cyclops, ocean-born, survey 
With single sight the waters near and far. 
So you to men a single eye display. 

And the horizon scan with baleful stare, 
Mark well a victim for your fell attack 
Then slow submerge while deadly fangs you 
bare. 

Sometimes a lookout spies the bubbling wake 
Which marks where speeds your messenger of 

death 
Yet can do naught but watch it overtake. 

[1.8] 



More frequently no warning sign Is given; 
A mighty ship sails on, Its fate unguessed, 
When suddenly the hull apart Is riven. 

Amid the scenes of death and agony 

Which soon succeed where peace had reigned 

before, 
You wallow gloating over what you see. 

E'en those who give you life at times are slain; 
Too long you stay submerged nor will obey 
When, frantic, they would seek for air again. 

Helpless as rats entrapped, they cannot flee 
But suffering to the end must slowly die 
Victims of their own Ingenuity. 

Abhorred, weird rover of the seas unseen, 
A menace to both friend and foe alike. 
Abortion given birth by brains unclean! 

[119] 



ASSOCIATION 

IN early May, I strolled one day 
Amid a mighty city's din and moil, 
Among those crowded ranks which sweat and 

toil. 
Which know not what it means to play. 



Then paused beside a fenced-in spot 
O'er-strewn with dust and filth, with weeds 

o'er-grown, 
A place where sunlight rarely ever shone, 
The very air seemed stifling, hot. 



[ 120] 



Yet there I spied a lonely flower 

Sprung from some seed brought — who knows 

how or why? 
Lifting its lovely face up to the sky 
As though it grew in fairest bower. 

Now when some soul divine I see 
Living in this sad world, pure, noble, strong, 
Striving undaunted 'mid the weaker throng, 
Thoughts of that flower revert to me. 



[i2i] 



THE WEDDING MARCH FROM 
LOHENGRIN 

THE Wedding March from Lohengrin! 
Throbbing and pulsing through the 
gathered throng 
Its soft, familiar strains now rise, now fall, 
Bringing each heart and soul a fragrant song, 
The old, old song of love; 
Making of most of this vast audience 
Lovers again. 

And yet what varied thoughts are passing in 

these minds? 
For love's song doth at times a sting possess 
And there are those to whom come burning 

memories 
With vain regrets for things which might have 

been, 
Of wasted opportunities 
And thoughts of future loneliness. 
[ 122] 



Others there are who, in the light subdued, 
Stretch forth appealing hands which meet, 

which press 
And In the pressing once again renew 
Pledges of days gone by. 
Youth too Is here, enthusiastic youth 
Looking on love with first awakening eyes, 
Observing thus naught but love's ecstasies, 
Oblivious to Its sorrows and Its sighs. 

And now the strains subside then die away. 

Ah who may say 

What dreams have come to youth In these brief 

moments past? 
What joys re-found for some as the soft strains 

remind 
But for a few — what sadness left behind! 



[ 123 ] 



THE GREEK ISLANDS 

LANDS of a mighty people dead long 
since, 
Inhabited to-day by those who live 
But through a glory which is not their own, 
Which comes to them by right of race alone. 
Thus do we see the once-famed Grecian Isles. 



Still not In vain is glory such as this 

For other nations came to find an art 

The grace of which and beauty brought delight 

An art which left its mark adown the years 

With monuments of stone which it inspired. 



[124] 



Great must have been the men and great the 

minds 
That could create such models or a type 
Which stood the test of ages and remain 
In splendor unsurpassed, by time unchanged; 
For to this day, in countries far and near. 
We find fair off-spring of those potent brains. 

Yet, if the spirits of the dead return 
And roam amid those scenes they knew in life 
How grieved each one must be to view abodes 
Wherein they dwelt, wide-open to the skies; 
Broad highways, marble-paved, o'er which 

were wont 
To march triumphant legions coming back 
Victorious from some war, now rank with 

weeds. 



[125] 



But paths for wandering goats, and everywhere 
The vandal's hand has pilfered or destroyed. 
Sad islands filled with ghosts and memories! 
Look where we may but ruin meets our gaze, 
Sheep stray at will among the crumbling walls 
While — most incongruous spectacle of all — 
A shepherd's hut where once a temple stood. 



[126] 



SNOW-FLAKES 

FROM foulest pool and clearest spring, 
From unclean sources or from sources 

pure 
The sun draws waters high into the sky 
Then kisses them with rays which heal and cure. 
When, at the magic of this kiss, each drop 
Is made alike, again to earth below, 
From all pollution freed, the sun returns them 

now 
As rain or mists, as crystal hail or snow. 
Those tiny, star-shaped flakes you catch upon 

your sleeve, 
Mayhap were waters once in tainted streams, 

who knows? 
And yet again we justly may believe 
They were bright dew-drops on some lovely 

rose. 



[ 127] 



THE RIVER 

BEFORE man lived — long centuries 
ago, 
A tiny stream of water, crystal-clear, 
Of a secluded mountain lake was born 
And from that time the lake's broad bosom fair 
This infant stream has nurtured and has fed. 
Rippling and swirling, babbling playfully, 
Un-knowing and un-caring what each curve 
Or bend might bring it set forth to explore. 

And soon is met a little brook, so small 

That scarcely doth the stream augment its size 

When both together join and onward rush 

United in a course which leads them on 

To other brooks and still to others. Thus - 

Each one is lured; the tiny stream now grows 

Into a tiny river, but as yet 

[128] 



Unmindful of great power till it essays 
A fierce attack which rends the solid earth, 
Cleaving steep banks, eroding channels deep 
As might some Titan of gigantic strength. 

Each mile traversed brings still more brooks 

and streams, 
And all are wooed while every one becomes 
A pulsing vein of the great artery 
Which wooed and gets in turn from them its 

being. 
Grown to a mighty river now it brings 
To those who live along the blessed shores. 
Great crops, great harvests, riches, gladness, — 

yet 
At times, as though with pent-up rage it teemed. 
Full vent is given to all its latent power. 
Then, over-flowing banks, it devastates 
And bares the lands which but an hour ago 
Were blest instead of blighted by the flow. 
[ 129] 



" Wouldst thou but speak so we poor mortals 

here 
Could understand, O river of all time, 
What wondrous tales to us thou couldst unfold; 
For thou hast seen huge, mammoth beasts that 

came 
Before the human race began, to slake 
Their thirst along thy marge. A span of 

years — 
Then followed man primeval, gaunt, uncouth. 
Who lived high up above thy banks In caves 
And worked or killed with Implements of stone. 
The bronze-skinned Indian thou hast also 

known. 
The white men and their many million sons. 
And coming down these ages, what strange craft 
Have floated on thy waters, borne along 
By wind or by thy current, fateful sure, 
Propelled by rough-hewn paddle, later on 
By oars of wood and finally by steam. 

[130] 



Yes, thou art very wise. So are the rocks 
Which guard and keep their watch along thy 

shores ; 
But they are seared and gray with age, while 

thou 
Must know some fountain of eternal youth 
And steal of Its pure waters for thine own, 
For thou are just as always, ever young. 

" Called by an ocean mightier e'en than thou. 
Roll on great river, roll resistless on! 
Those men who boasted here but yesterday 
At having chained an atom of thy power, 
Where are they gone to-day, of what avail 
To them who are no more ? So, in disdain, 
Thou flowest on as for ten thousand years, 
As thou wilt flow until the end of time." 



[131] 



DO DREAMS COME TRUE? 

DO dreams come true? 
Ah yes, I'm sure sometimes they do 
For as, this morn, the dawn's first ghostly light 
Stole through my chamber window putting to 

swift flight 
The gloom of night, 
I dreamt an angel came and stood beside my 

bed 
And smoothed my troubled brow though not 

a word was said. 
Then sudden I awoke; lo! you were standing 

there 
With one dear hand laid gently on my hair. 



[ 132 ] 



AT SUNSET 

GREAT, Titan shapes, flame-fringed, loom 
In the sunset skies, 
Outrlvalllng In shades and tints 
Rare, gorgeous butterflies 

Or opals viewed by light of drift-wood blaze; 
As though the sinking sun wished all the world 

to gaze 
Upon his hidden treasures, ere he wane. 
So paints, upon the curtains of these shifting 

clouds. 
Each color that his spectrum doth contain. 



[ ^33] 



AT DUSK 

THE calls of homing birds that seek their 
mates 
Are wafted on the twilight breeze to me 
Beside an open window whence I see 
The sun about to close its gleaming gates 
Of burnished gold. All over vale and hill, 
With ghost-like stealth, the lengthening shad- 
ows creep 
Enshrouding fields and trees in darkness deep; 
Each bright till palls of mystic nothing kill 
For each in turn the waning, shimmering light. 
It seems as though grim night had hovered near 
And, passing by, just touched with sable wings, 
As with some magic wand, the rocks and things 
Which but a moment since were outlined clear 
Yet, even as I gaze, now disappear. 



[134] 



So, those who know the joys of love and live 
Forgetful of what future years may bring, 
Must sometimes feel the cruel, deadly sting 
Of griefs which strike and seldom warning give 
But, like a shadow dark, they steal away 
The joyful brightness of our yesterday. 

And now the fading light is almost spent 
While e'en the gentle zephyrs, whispering low 
Of far-off scenes, then lower still as though 
O'er-burdened with the fragrant, haunting scent 
Of flowers oft caressed near wood and bay, 
So drowsy grow, they cease to blow their lay. 
There follows silence pregnant, tense, pro- 
found. 
Yet — I could almost think I heard a sound 
As if the world had sighed or else some fay 
By me unseen when it too ceased from play; 
For at this witching hour and near such ground, 
We know these creatures of the wood abound. 

[135] 



All nature seems to wait in hushed suspense 
While, for a moment brief, the stillness lasts; 
Then — could it be a thought of icy blasts 
Endured some winter time of cold intense, 
Or did there pass a spirit from the North, 
That caused the world to shiver as it went? 
For trees begin to quiver and are bent 
As by a hand unseen while, from henceforth. 
The air is chilled though fires of stars which 

morn 
In turn will quench, grow bright in darkening 

skies ; 
The wind comes sudden, strong; I realise 
A summer day has died, a night is born. 



[136] 



ALWAYS 

DO I behold the flaming sun 
Burst from night's prison walls be- 
neath the sea 
And so proclaim to all another day begun, 
Dear heart, 1 think of thee. 

When, weary of his freedom sweet, 
I watch this sun in Western waters sink 
Then send his love the moon each waiting star 

to greet. 
Of thee, dear heart, I think. 

Hear I a song that lovely seems. 
View I fair landscapes formed by nature's art. 
Be I in waking hours or In my hours of dreams, 
I think of thee, dear heart. 



[ 137] 



EARLY NOVEMBER 

A SOUND as though of sobbing in the 
trees, 
With fitful, sullen gusts the wailing North wind 

blows 
Foreboding death to Nature's bloom and green 
Or the long, winter sleep beneath deep-drifting 

snows ; 
Stilled is the hum of bees and stilled the drone 
Of summer-frenzied insects, hushed the carol- 
ling 
Of birds and throaty boom of frogs. 
Those very brooks and streams which in the 

spring 
Rushed sea-ward with exulting, noisy flow 
Now seem to murmur plaintively as though 
Already they the binding clasp could feel 
Of Icy hosts which from them freedom steal. 



[138] 



No longer to our senses comes the sweet per- 
fume 
Of field or forest flower since wilted is each 

bloom 
And from the suffering branches overhead 
Sere, faded leaves In sad procession fall 
Then o'er the drowsing earth a shroud-like 

blanket spread. 
High up above, in swift, unerring flight 
The wild geese wing their way, against the 

clouds outlined, 
Bound for a warmer clime and as they pass 

from sight 
Derisively they taunt us lingering here behind. 



[ 139] 



THE VALLEY OF DEPARTED DAYS 

INTO the valley of departed days 
How many here would fain again retrace 
Their steps and stroll once more along those 

flowered ways 
Hallowed by memories which time can ne'er 

efface, 
Of youth and all that youth contained and mem- 
ories 
Of loved ones lost to them for life's brief space. 



[ 140] 



For as we walk the path to future years 
With feet which falter and more weary grow 
As each new year succeeds, the pain, the griefs, 

the tears 
Of days gone by, forgotten are and we but 

know 
Their joys. The rearward road more beauti- 
ful appears 
The further on the road ahead we go. 



THE END 



[141] 







i^ 



